


Sparks or Whatever

by gallagherfamilyreunion (PrincessPeach)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 07:36:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2301683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessPeach/pseuds/gallagherfamilyreunion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amanda planned this whole scheme to throw her parents for a loop, but never even considered that she might be affected in the process... I think you all know where this is going...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparks or Whatever

**Author's Note:**

> Contains gendered slurs, mentions of homophobia and canonical abuse re: Mickey/Svetlana, rated for pretty graphic sexual content aka definitely NSFW

The whole thing started out as just another one of Lip’s pathetic attempts at humor.

Parents Weekend was quickly approaching again, and Amanda was finding it hard to stomach the idea of another awkward dinner at some overpriced, pretentious restaurant where she’d have to spend the entire night ignoring her parents’ not-so-subtle hints about grad school/med school/settling down/the future in general. So she needed a plan.

The problem was that she’d used up Lip last year, and because—god help her—she’d actually grown attached to the fucker , there was no one else she could call in to stir shit up.

“Won’t it be kind of obvious if you keep pulling the same stunt?” asked Lip as they sat on his twin-size bunk, where according to Amanda’s schedule they were supposed to be studying for approximately the next 17 minutes.

“Nah,” she assured him. “Never underestimate the middle-class fear of downward mobility.”

“Okay, so who’d you have in mind?”

“No one yet, but I’m open to suggestions.”

“You should get a girlfriend,” Lip suggested with a smirk.

Amanda responded with a short, sharp laugh. “Yeah, in your dreams,” she said. “Besides, haven’t you heard? It’s like, super hip to be gay now. They’d probably throw me a party.”

Lip stared across the room thoughtfully. “Well, maybe that depends on the girl.”

* * *

After her last expedition to the South Side, Amanda thought she was prepared for pretty much anything. She confidently walked up to the house that matched the address Lip had given her (he’d wanted to come along, but she gently suggested that it might not be such a good idea, considering), climbed the rickety wooden steps and knocked on the door.

When it opened a moment later, Amanda discovered that she was in no way prepared for the sight of the girl who greeted her, or the first words to come out of her mouth.

“The fuck do you want?”

Luckily a lifetime of etiquette training kicked in, allowing her to at least appear calm and collected. “I’m Amanda,” she introduced herself. “You must be Mandy; I think Lip mentioned I’d be stopping by?”

“Oh yeah,” Mandy replied, her guard dropping slightly as she opened the door wider to let Amanda inside. “Guess he told you about me too, then.”

“Yeah,” she confirmed. “But he didn’t say you’d be so hot.”

Mandy gave her a side-eyed “what the fuck?” look, and a connection clicked into place in Amanda’s brain. “Hey wait, you’re the waitress, right? From Waffle Cottage?”

“So?”

“So, that explains why Lip was acting so weird that night.”

Mandy scoffed. “Fuck Lip.”

From another room came the sound of a baby crying, saving Amanda from having to admit that she was doing exactly that.

“Shit,” said Mandy. “Hang on.”

She left and Amanda used the opportunity to examine her surroundings, observing with mild interest the full ashtrays and piles of clutter that occupied most of the flat surfaces in the room. She definitely wasn’t in Highland Park anymore.

Which, she reminded herself, was exactly the point. Unsure of whether she was allowed to sit down or not, Amanda perched on the corner of the well-worn, stain-spattered couch, clutching her bag to her chest.

Mandy emerged a moment later, holding a plump, smiling infant on her hip.

“Is he yours?” Amanda couldn’t help but ask—Lip hadn’t mentioned anything about a baby.

“No, thank god,” said Mandy. “My shithead brother’s.”

“Oh,” said Amanda. “Well, he’s precious.”

“Thanks, but could we get on with this? I’ve got shit to do.”

“Okay, right,” Amanda said, reminding herself that this was strictly a business transaction as she explained the plan.

* * *

“So that’s it?” Mandy asked afterwards, bouncing the baby—Yevgeny, Amanda had gathered—on her knee and shaking a bright blue rattle for his amusement.

“Yep,” Amanda confirmed. “If we play our cards right, you come out 10K ahead, I get my parents off my back for at least another year. Hopefully longer.”

“No chance I could get an advance on that, is there?” Mandy asked after a moment’s hesitation. “Yevgeny needs diapers.”

* * *

Back in her room that afternoon, Amanda was finding it strangely difficult to focus on studying, so the knock on the door came as a welcome relief, until she got up and peered through the peephole to see who it was. She let out an annoyed groan, only to mentally kick herself for it a moment later—now she couldn’t even pretend she was out.

“You alright, Amanda?” Lip’s voice came through the door, slightly muffled.

Reluctantly, she opened it to allow him in side. “Fine, she assured him with a tight-lipped smile.

“You were supposed to text me when you got back,” he reminded her, making himself at home on her bunk. “How’d it go?”

“Good, I think it’s gonna work.”

“Oh,” said Lip as he flipped aimlessly through the pages of her math textbook. “Well, that’s good.”

Amanda narrowed her eyes and looked at him over the rims of her glasses, sensing that something fishy was going on. “Did you really come over here to chat about your ex-girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” Lip insisted. He instantly realized that she could see right through his bullshit and added, “and I was kind of hoping for an afternoon BJ. You know, if you’re in the mood.”

Amanda sighed. “Actually Lip, I’m really not.”

“Okay,” he said with a shrug. “How about I do you, then?”

Which was definitely something she could work with.

* * *

Amanda had a problem, which in itself wasn’t that unusual. College girl problems, she could deal with. Embraced, actually. Which all-natural shampoo substitute works best? What’s the best route from the cafeteria to Harris Hall? How many highlighter colors are necessary to ensure effective studying?

But this, this was something on a whole different level, a problem that couldn’t be solved by logic, perseverance, or Amanda’s finely honed type-A tendencies. A problem, to be precise, named Mandy Milkovich.

Technically, it wasn’t so much a problem as it was a fascination, bordering on all-consuming obsession. And the worst part was, she couldn’t do a single thing about it. Whenever she was with Lip—which was less and less often these days, possibly by some subconscious intention that Amanda would never admit to even if she were aware of it—she thought about bringing her up, but guessed that, “So, tell me more about the neighborhood girl you totally screwed over,” wasn’t exactly something you could casually slip into conversation.

Thanks to that type-A predisposition, she did have a single snapshot of Mandy saved to her phone, taken the morning they met at Amanda’s insistence and saved along with Mandy’s number. It was all part of the scheme, she’d told Mandy, which had been mostly true at the time, but now she found herself staring at that photo much more often than was healthy: during class, while she was (supposed to be) studying, and yeah, late at night when she was feeling restless and horny.

She knew it was pretty fucked up, but still couldn’t help herself: in her defense, it was a pretty good picture, Mandy staring at something just off-camera, smirking slightly, the morning light streaming in through the front window and adding a warm glow to the whole frame.

And then of course there were their names, which were obviously similar to say the least (she hadn’t asked, but it was hard to imagine that Mandy _wasn’t_ short for Amanda): that couldn’t be a coincidence. At least not in the elaborate mental scenario Amanda had constructed, where she and Mandy were two sides of the same coin, set on different paths only by the luck of the draw. Their situations could just as easily have been reversed, or, more accurately, paralleled: in an alternate universe where Amanda hadn’t been adopted by rich white yuppies, the Chicago foster care system would have taken over, and she’d have been one of ten kids under the supervision of some South Side denizen who was mainly using the system to collect a government check. She and Mandy could have lived in the same neighborhood, gone to the same schools, hell, even gotten knocked up by the same guy.

Or not, if these fantasies were any indication of the direction that the endlessly spinning needle on the compass of her sexuality was currently pointing. But that part she didn’t really care to think about too much, filing it to the back of her mind under things to be potentially explored at a later date and only under the right conditions.

It was in the middle of one of these reveries that Amanda’s phone began to buzz, not an unusual occurrence, but her heart took a swan dive into the pit of her stomach when she looked down and saw that it was Mandy who had texted her. She read the name twice to reassure herself that this was actually happening and not just the result of her imagination working overtime, and then swiped across the screen to read the message.

_So what the fuck am I supposed to wear to this thing anyway?_

Which was a fair question, and pretty straightforward, but Amanda still typed and deleted her reply three times before pressing “send.” _Something slutty,_ she finally settled on. _Or if you have any T-shirts with obscenities on them, that works too_ , she added on an impulse.

Mandy’s response was almost instantaneous. _Okay, whatever that means._

Amanda leaned back against the wall and stared at the ceiling, regretting the improvisation and debating her next move. At last she began to type, figuring she’d already dug herself a hole—might as well see how far it went down.

_Wanna go shopping?_

It was a few moments longer before her phone vibrated again, but Mandy’s answer only consisted of a single letter: _K._

* * *

Amanda was glad to see that Mandy was sitting on the front steps smoking when she pulled up for two reasons: 1.) It saved her from the debate of whether to go up to the door or not, and 2.) Mandy looked hot as fuck with a cigarette between her lips, leather jacket unzipped to show off a T-shirt for some band Amanda had never heard of.

She suddenly felt self-consciously uncool in her oxfords and crisp button-down, but there was nothing to be done about it now as Mandy stubbed out her cigarette and walked over to the car.

“Hey,” said Amanda when she got in. It was an innocent enough greeting, but one that had required much thought and practice to come off as casual and impromptu as possible.

“Hey,” Mandy replied. Amanda thought she saw the hint of a smile cross her lips, but it was hard to say for sure.

“So I thought we could go downtown,” she volunteered, pulling away from the curb, “if that’s cool.”

Mandy shrugged. “Parking’s gonna be hell.”

“Nah,” Amanda said to reassure her, despite the fact that she hadn’t actually given that element of her plan much consideration. “Don’t worry about it.”

The conversation came crashing to a halt after that, leaving only the low sound of music coming through the stereo system, so Amanda turned up the volume to cover the awkward silence.

 _Burn burn, burn my heart baby_  
Take a piece, yeah I don’t need all of it  
Don’t have time for your cruel ways and  
I ain’t wondering ‘bout numbered days ‘cuz  
I don’t have time to die

“I like this song,” Mandy said after a moment, to Amanda’s surprise.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s not my usual kind of thing,” she added. “But it’s good.”

* * *

Parking was, as Mandy predicted, a complete nightmare; after navigating six blocks of near-gridlock conditions on the Magnificent Mile they finally came across a garage that charged by the hour and Amanda pulled in gratefully.

“Now I see why people take the train,” she observed.

Mandy snorted, shaking her head like Amanda was a truly hopeless case. “That’s not why people take the fucking train.”

* * *

“Oh my god,” said Amanda when Mandy emerged from the dressing room in a skintight black dress with triangular side cutouts designed to show just a hint of skin above the hips. “You have to get that.”

“Really?” said Mandy. “For dinner with your parents?”

“God, no,” Amanda replied. “But it’s insanely sexy, and you never know when you’ll need a good LBD.”

“It’s $600,” Mandy pointed out as she checked the price tag.

“Yeah, but you’re forgetting I have this.” Amanda pulled out her parents’ Mastercard with a grin. “Should we go look at shoes now?”

“I dunno, I really don’t think we’re gonna find the right kind of thing at Macy’s,” Mandy said, “and I should probably get going, actually.”

“But what about your dinner outfit?”

“Oh, I think I can probably find something,” Mandy insisted.

“Fine,” Amanda conceded, “but we’re getting that dress.”

* * *

The ride back to Mandy’s house was quiet, but comfortably so; something had changed, but Amanda couldn’t put her finger on exactly what.

“So tomorrow, then?” Mandy said as they came to a stop.

“Yeah, I’ll let you know when we’re on our way, probably around seven. If that works.”

“Shit, I forgot to find a sitter,” said Mandy. “Maybe I can talk one of his actual parents into watching him…”

“Or just bring him along,” Amanda suggested, producing an actual laugh from Mandy.

“Hey, I’m not joking.”

“Alright, I’ll think about it. Thanks for the dress, by the way.”

Amanda waved off the comment. “Thank my dad’s Gold card.”

Mandy put her hand on the door handle like she was about to exit the car, but then she didn’t, and there was a weird sort of suspended moment in time before she finally spoke.

“Hey, so I was thinking,” she began with an uncharacteristic reluctance.

Amanda’s heart dropped to her stomach as she envisioned the entire plan crashing down around her. “Oh my god, please tell me you’re not backing out.”

“What? No,” Mandy assured her. “I was just thinking… we should like, try a practice kiss or something to make sure it’s convincing. Unless you don’t—”

Amanda cut her off by leaning over and planting her lips firmly on Mandy’s for just a moment, unable to resist.

“Like that?” she asked, biting her bottom lip in concern and hoping she hadn’t overstepped her bounds.

Mandy seemed a little flustered but not unpleased, blushing slightly as she met Amanda’s gaze. “Um, yeah,” she said. “Maybe we should try one more time.”

This time it was Mandy who leaned in, putting a hand to the back of Amanda’s neck to pull her closer and kissing her fiercely for several blissful seconds. Just as Amanda was getting her bearing enough to return the intensity, Mandy broke away, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“See you tomorrow,” she said, and then she was gone.

Amanda watched her walk up the sidewalk and into the house, not really sure what she was waiting for until Mandy disappeared inside without looking back.

“Fuck,” she said to herself, leaning back against the head rest, mind reeling. If not for the lingering taste of Mandy’s cinnamon-flavored lip gloss, she might have dreamed the whole thing.

If Amanda had been fucked before, she was really fucked now. She’d planned this whole scheme to throw her parents for a loop, but never even considered that she might be affected in the process. That kind of thing just didn’t happen.

Even with Lip, who was the closest thing she’d ever had to a “serious” boyfriend, she wasn’t like, head over heels or anything. It was always about the cost-benefit analysis, how to get the most value for the least amount of inconvenience, and Amanda always remained in control of her thoughts and emotions.

Always, of course, until now.

* * *

 

Jason and Cheryl showed up at Amanda’s dorm room promptly at four, exactly as planned. They greeted her with warm hugs and observed her neat, organized room with approval, while Amanda was slightly on edge as she waited for the right moment to drop the news about her new girlfriend.

“Amanda?” said Jason, and she looked up to realize that both her parents were looking at her expectantly.

“Hmm?” was all she could manage in her distracted state.

“I asked if your classes are going well,” her father elaborated.

“Oh. Yeah, great.”

“That’s not what you’re wearing to the reception, is it?” asked Cheryl, eyeing Amanda’s Clash t-shirt and ripped jeans dubiously. She and her husband were both dressed to the nines and itching to get to the President’s Reception, a Parents Weekend cocktail hour for distinguished alumni and their up-and-coming offspring.

“Um, yeah it is,” Amanda tried to insist, but the expressions on her parents’ faces told her that this was going to be a hard-fought battle and not worth the casualties. “Fine,” she said with a sigh, shooing them out into the hallway while she changed into a presentable black sheath dress and matching cardigan.

“Good heavens, Amanda, you look like you’re going to a funeral,” Cheryl said when she emerged.

“Yeah well, you never know,” Amanda replied, hiding a smirk as she saw the look of horror on her mother’s face.

“It’s fine,” Jason insisted as he checked his watch anxiously. “We’d better go,” he added, practically herding them down the hall to the elevators.

* * *

The two good things about the President’s Reception were 1.) free booze, and 2.) Amanda wasn’t really required to talk to anyone. She nabbed a glass of wine from the tray of a passing server—who she was pretty sure was also in her stats class—and staked out a seat by herself along the ballroom’s far wall, where she could observe the networking, schmoozing, and ass-kissing from a comfortable distance.

It was only an hour-long event, but Amanda managed to consume two more glasses of wine before it was over, so by the time her parents came to collect her she was feeling very warm and fuzzy.

“Ready to go?” asked Jason. “Our dinner reservation’s at seven.”

“Yeah,” said Amanda, “we have to stop and pick up my date first, though.”

“Date?” Cheryl repeated, looking pleased. “You never said you were seeing someone again.”

“Well, I am.”

Jason, on the other hand, was much more suspicious of the announcement. “Please don’t tell me it’s another one of those awful South Side boys.”

“Nope,” Amanda confirmed with a smirk. “Just a South Side girl.”

* * *

The news went over pretty well, all things considered. She could tell her parents were trying to keep an open mind; they were definitely taking it better than when she’d told them about Lip. Still, the drive to the Milkovich house was rather tense.

Amanda could tell her mom especially was bursting with questions, but restricted herself to “What’s her name?” and “How long have you been seeing each other?” The whole plan depended heavily on Jason and Cheryl believing that their daughter was hopelessly in love, which Amanda was finding alarmingly easy to fake.

“Yeah, I’m not saying we’re soulmates or anything,” she gushed, “but it’s getting pretty intense, you know?”

“Alright, I think we get the picture,” Jason said tersely.

“What, am I making you uncomfortable or something?” Amanda pressed. “Oh my god, are you guys homophobic?”

“Of course not,” Cheryl replied quickly. “We want you to be who you are, it’s just so… sudden, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well maybe I never told you because I knew you’d freak out like this, god.”

Her parents were saved from having to reply by the pleasant, slightly robotic voice of the GPS announcing that they had reached their destination.

“Is this it?” Cheryl asked, eyeing the litter-covered lawn uncertainly.

“Yeah, c’mon,” Amanda said, trying to ignore the sudden feeling of butterflies in her stomach. Her parents followed her reluctantly up the sidewalk to the front door, Jason triple-checking to make sure the Lexus was locked.

“Hey,” Mandy said, answering the door with Yevgeny resting on her hip. She wore an ultra-short cutoff denim skirt along with a black mesh tank top through which her purple sport bra was clearly visible, with knee-high black boots completing the look. Amanda didn’t look back to see her mom’s reaction, but she could almost feel her physically recoil.

“Hey,” said Amanda, planting an innocent kiss on Mandy’s cheek. “Mandy, these are my parents, Jason and Cheryl. Mom, Dad, this is Mandy.”

“You can come in or whatever, I’ll be ready in a sec,” Mandy said before disappearing down the hall with the baby in tow. 

Jason and Cheryl stepped inside just far enough to shut the door behind them, probably feeling uncomfortable about the trio of Russian prostitutes sprawled around the living room in various states of undress.

“So are these Mandy’s relatives, or…?” wondered Jason.

“Um, no,” Amanda corrected him. “I think they’re just sex workers, actually.”

“Oh my,” Cheryl said, clutching her chest to show how scandalized she was.

“Alright,” Mandy said, returning with her purse slung over her shoulder and Yevgeny tottering along beside, clinging to her hand. “You,” she said, pointing to a brunette wearing a silky pink robe, “watch the baby. Okay?” she added as she handed over a folded $20 bill.

“ _Da,_ ” the woman replied, taking the money.

“Ready?” Amanda asked.

“Yeah,” Mandy confirmed as she made for the door.

“Oh, um, are you sure you don’t want a jacket?” Cheryl suggested. “It’s pretty chilly out… and I think Frontera might have a dress code.”

Mandy shrugged, but grabbed a black hoodie that happened to be lying across the back of an armchair. “Whatever.”

They exited in pairs, Mandy surprising Amanda by linking arms with her and then meeting her eye with a sly smile. Once they’d all piled in the car, it was only moments before Cheryl asked the question Amanda knew had been eating at her.

“He’s not yours, is he? The baby,” she clarified.

“Fuck no,” Mandy said, earning a thumbs-up from Amanda for the well-placed curse. “He’s my brother’s.”

“Oh, that’s sweet,” Cheryl replied with obvious relief.

“Yeah, if you say so,” Mandy said. “I mean, my dad—who’s in prison now—hired a hooker to fuck the gay out of him, and she got knocked up.”

“Oh my god, that’s awful,” Jason said sympathetically.

“It didn’t work, obviously, but they got hitched anyway,” Mandy elaborated. “Except now my brother’s with this neighborhood guy I used to date.”

“Lip’s brother,” Amanda supplied helpfully.

“Oh, that’s… nice?” Cheryl guessed.

“I don’t even fucking know,” Mandy said. “Hey look, that’s the first place we ever robbed,” she added, pointing out the window at a convenience store as they drove past. “Good times…”

* * *

Dinnertime conversation followed pretty much the same pattern. Mandy played her role to a T, regaling the group with tales of her family’s criminal exploits and general mischief as Cheryl and Jason pretended—badly—not to be completely horrified, and Amanda tried to hide her glee.

“So yeah,” Mandy said, pausing to finish off her beer, “that was how Terry broke probation the third time… No, shit, fourth. Sorry, you kind of start to lose track, you know?”

“Anyone up for dessert?” the chipper server cut in.

“Not tonight,” Jason answered quickly. “I think we’re ready for the check.”

The server nodded and left, and Amanda took the opportunity to fuck with her parents one last time before the night was over. “I gotta go to the bathroom,” she announced as she stood. “Be right back, okay babe?”

And then she leaned down and kissed Mandy like she meant it, grasping her face in her hands and pulling her in for a long lingering moment, reveling in the slight tang of the alcohol that remained on her lips and tongue.

“K,” Mandy said when Amanda finally pulled away, with a predictable but still endearing smirk.

* * *

Of course, Amanda didn’t actually have to go to the bathroom, but once she arrived it was hard to resist the temptation to get herself off right then and there. That kiss had been, just, holy shit. Like that thing people talked about where you saw sparks or whatever? She’d been certain that only happened in like, movies and bullshit love songs, but now she knew exactly how real it was. Only Taylor Swift had never mentioned any hot brunette girls with nose rings.

Amanda settled for splashing some cold water on her face and then returning to the table: best not to leave Mandy alone with her parents for too long, although she would have given anything to be a fly on the wall for that conversation. She felt confident that any bargaining wouldn’t have occurred yet, not in such a public place, and sure enough the three of them were just sitting in what had to be excruciating silence, awaiting her return.

“Ready to go?” Cheryl asked brightly, standing up before anyone else even had the chance to respond. “My, what an interesting night.”

* * *

They’d gotten about four blocks away from the restaurant when it became obvious that the normal Friday night traffic had devolved into a state of complete gridlock.

“Why are we stopped?” Cheryl wondered with a frown.

“Wasn’t there a Bears game tonight?” Mandy replied. “Must’ve just ended.”

“Ah, fuck,” said Jason, pounding his hands against the steering wheel in frustration. “Pardon my French… Well, better settle in, ladies,” he added, “we might be here for a while.”

Amanda barely heard him; she was much more focused on the fact that Mandy’s fingers were slowly but surely intertwining with hers on the seat between them, even as Mandy stared out the window at the bright city lights with all the appearance of innocence.

* * *

What was normally a 20-minute trip ended up taking more than an hour, but finally they broke free from the congestion and made it back to Mandy’s house. Amanda’s anxiety about the success of her plan had returned with full force: for once, both of her parents were unreadable. What if they’d actually caught on to her tactics, or Mandy didn’t seem like enough of a Bad Influence to take action? All she could do was sit tight and play it cool, keeping her fingers crossed that everything worked out.

The car pulled to a stop in silence, the only sound the door locks releasing as Jason shifted into park.

“Well, thanks for dinner,” Mandy said as she got out; Amanda could tell she was equally uncertain about how this was supposed to go.

“I’ll call you later, okay?” was all the reassurance she could offer, and for a moment it seemed like that would be the end of it. The plan was a bust, everyone go home, good night.

“Hang on,” said Jason at the last possible second, and Amanda felt a wave of relief wash over her. “I’ll walk Mandy to the door.”

They made an odd couple, her father in his $900 suit walking her girlfriend—fake girlfriend, she reminded herself—up the steps to the house. They stopped on the front porch and Amanda slid over to the passenger side to get a better view, but she couldn’t make out much in the dark. Her father seemed to be doing most of the talking and gesturing, while Mandy stood with her arms stubbornly crossed.

Amanda exhaled to fog up the window and drew a small heart, then embellished it with an arrow shot through the middle.

“Stop that,” her mother scolded when Amanda’s artwork caught her eye.

She pulled her cardigan sleeve down over her hand, and then used it to erase the drawing. “Have you ever had, like, a really good kiss?” she asked.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You know, one that made you go all starry-eyed and weak at the knees.”

Cheryl scoffed. “Don’t be silly, Amanda. You’re too old for this kind of nonsense.”

Movement from outside caught Amanda’s attention: it looked like Mandy had gone inside, and Jason was returning to the car.

“I may have just become the main benefactor of a criminal empire,” he said to himself as he fastened his seatbelt and shifted into gear.

“What did you say to her?” Amanda demanded. Jason remained silent, so she pressed further: “Dad, what did you do?”

“You won’t be seeing that girl anymore, Amanda,” he said simply.

“Are you serious? What the hell!” Amanda was glad for the dark and the fact that her parents couldn’t look at her directly; she was pretty sure she didn’t look nearly as outraged as she sounded.

“You will focus on your studies,” Jason continued. “And if you must date, you will choose a… an appropriate match.”

Amanda shook her head in what she hoped seemed like resignation. “This is fucking bullshit.”

It was at this point that Cheryl chimed in to offer her sole contribution to the debate: “Watch your language, please.”

* * *

There was really no good reason why Amanda shouldn’t have slept perfectly soundly that night. Everything had gone according to plan: her parents were significantly freaked out, she’d asserted her individuality and reminded them that she wasn’t going to just blindly follow whatever path they set out for her. Mission accomplished, time to move on.

There was that one thing she couldn’t stop thinking about, that was keeping her mind reeling as she stared wide-eyed at the ceiling and listened to her roommate snore—and it wasn’t the kiss at the restaurant. As mind-blowing and possibly life-changing as that had been, it was still at least partially for show: the sparks were real, but so were the roles that she and Mandy had been playing. But that moment afterwards, holding hands in the back seat of the car in the middle of a traffic jam, that wasn’t for anyone’s benefit but their own. So if there wasn’t something there, if Mandy didn’t share at least in some tiny way the feelings that Amanda had, what would have been the point?

Or was she completely overthinking this entire thing, as usual? Well, there was one way to find out for sure.  Acting quickly before she could talk herself out of it, Amanda put on a hoodie and sneakers, grabbed her keys and headed out the door.

* * *

It was past midnight when Amanda arrived back at the Milkovich house, but she wasn’t at all surprised to see the orange glow still shining through the curtain-covered front windows.

“Who the fuck are you?” asked the short, black-haired guy who answered the door—it was no stretch at all to assume that this was Mandy’s brother.

“Is Mandy home?” Amanda replied, ignoring the question and pushing past him into the house.

“Whoa, hey!” he protested, but relaxed when he saw the look of recognition that Mandy gave her.

“Oh, hi,” said Mandy, who was sprawled on the couch smoking a cigarette, laid-back as could be.

“You know this chick?” asked her brother—Mickey, maybe? Amanda couldn’t remember for sure.

“Yeah,” Mandy confirmed. “Fuck off, alright?”

“What? No, you fuck off; me and Ian were right in the middle of _First Blood_.”

It wasn’t until Mickey mentioned his name that Amanda noticed the redhead sitting on the floor against the couch, watching the scene unfold with mild amusement.

Mandy sighed. “Follow me,” she told Amanda, leading her down the back hallway to her room.

“Sorry about my brother,” she apologized as she stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray on her dresser. “He’s a fucking dick.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Amanda, suddenly shy now that they were alone together again, and in Mandy’s bedroom, no less. “I was just, um, curious… you know, about how things went.”

“Oh yeah, your dad gave me like 12K,” Mandy said casually.

“Nice,” Amanda said, genuinely impressed, “but not quite a record.” There was a long, slightly uncomfortable silence, during which she became suddenly and inexplicably aware of the awkwardness of her limbs, and had she seriously always been such a loud breather?

“So,” Mandy said finally, “is that the only reason you came down here at like one o’clock in the morning?”

Amanda could actually feel herself blushing, but it was go big or go home time, and it was way too late to back out now so fuck it all. “Not exactly,” she said weakly.

The room seemed to be suddenly spinning, so it was hard to say if Mandy had made her move before or after she spoke: all Amanda knew was that now they were kissing again but it was so much different than before, free and uninhibited and almost desperate but in a good way, and Mandy’s lips were on her neck and ear and jawline, and her hands were grasping the smooth curves of Mandy’s hips, pulling her closer until they were pressed up against each other but even that didn’t seem like enough. Amanda found herself rubbing against Mandy’s thigh, aching for relief, which was all the encouragement Mandy needed to help her remove her sweatshirt and the thin white t-shirt she wore underneath.

Mandy’s hands were soft and warm on her breasts, but her tongue was even warmer and softer, and yet somewhere in between her gasps of joy it occurred to Amanda that this was not exactly a fucking level playing field. She fumbled for a moment to get a grip on Mandy’s shirt and helped her pull it off; she was still wearing that purple sport bra underneath so Amanda hiked it up a little before Mandy got the idea and removed it herself.

Suddenly the presence of any clothing at all seemed not only unnecessary but entirely unacceptable: both of them stripped as quickly as possible before hungrily kissing again, but what had once seemed like the be-all, end-all was now nowhere near satisfying enough.  Amanda pushed Mandy back onto the unmade bed and then climbed atop her, basking in the dark, lusty look in her eyes.

So far Mandy hadn’t made much noise, but she began to emit shallow gasps of pleasure as Amanda lowered herself and began to shower her with a series of urgent kisses, starting at her collarbone and quickly working down to her breast and stomach and hips before skipping to her inner thigh and moving back upward, carefully avoiding giving Mandy what she was really waiting for. Mandy said nothing about the teasing—said nothing at all really, just continued to groan in feverish pleasure—but began to rock her hips impatiently, which Amanda took as her cue to dive in at last and holy fuck was it incredible, hearing Mandy’s ecstatic moans as she tasted her salty wetness. Amanda felt Mandy’s hand tangle in her hair and push gently and took it as a sign to increase her speed and intensity, which made Mandy squirm even more.

She focused all her energy on a single point that seemed to be giving her the most pleasure and could feel that something was definitely close to happening: Mandy’s breathing got shallower and more rapid, her movements more and more frantic, and then suddenly she froze with her back arched high, letting out a single soft, almost reverent word: “Fuck.”

Amanda slid back up the bed and rested her head on the pillow next to Mandy, planting a short, sweet kiss on her lips.

“No way,” she said a moment later when Mandy started to move down to return the favor. “I want to look you in the eye when I come.”

Mandy smiled bashfully, but continued to meet Amanda’s gaze as she tentatively slipped her fingers into her warm, wet folds.

“Aww, c’mon,” said Amanda, placing her hand on top of Mandy’s to guide her. “Don’t be shy now.”

Which was all the encouragement it took: after that all Amanda could feel was Mandy, and all she could see was Mandy, and all she could do was gasp Mandy’s name as she careened over the edge on a powerful tidal wave of pleasure. She tried her hardest to keep her word and look her in the eye, she really did, but if she’d been seeing sparks before what she was seeing now was a fucking fireworks show, and it was so goddamn beautiful she couldn’t help but think that if there was ever a moment to die happy this was it.

When she opened her eyes again it was to Mandy smiling, and just when Amanda thought the bubble of joy inside her couldn’t grow any bigger it expanded again, and there was no way for her to express it except to fucking giggle.

“What?” asked Mandy curiously.

“Nothing. Just…” Amanda sighed and considered trying to explain, but then abandoned the idea. She was pretty sure Mandy knew, anyway. “Nothing,” she repeated.

“Okay,” Mandy accepted. She brought her hand up to brush the stray wisps of hair off Amanda’s forehead, and then placed a simple, affectionate kiss there, almost like she was marking her territory. “So are you staying over or what?”

**Author's Note:**

> Mmmkay so that song was "Death Proof" from Kate Nash's iconic _Girl Talk_ album, also [share this fic on tumblr](http://gallagherfamilyreunion.tumblr.com/post/97432915315/sparks-or-whatever-shameless-us-archive-of-our) if u wanttttt


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